Going Under
by Arwen Jade Kenobi
Summary: House figured he was probably the only man alive who would think of a Christopher Nolan film while drowning


**Title:** Going Under  
**Author:** Arwen Jade Kenobi  
**Rating:** PG 13  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine. No profit. Just for fun. Please don't sue.  
**Characters/Pairings:** House, Wilson (slash if you squint)  
**Summary:** House figured he was probably the only man alive who would think of a Christopher Nolan film while drowning.  
**Author's Note:** Response to 100situations's prompt #48: Drown. The quote at the beginning is from the film _The Prestige_.

"_I once told you of a man who described drowning to me…he said it was agony."_

House figured he was probably the only man alive who would think of a Christopher Nolan film while drowning. He wasn't drowning yet, to be sure. His lips were pressed together tightly and he was fighting every desire to inhale. It was a battle he knew he would eventually lose. The human body needing oxygen to survive and all; you didn't know how badly you needed it until you couldn't get it. You don't know what you've got 'til it's gone indeed.

The second thought that entered House's mind was that there was a reason that boats and bum legs didn't mix.

- - -

"No goddamn way!" House glared at the small craft from his spot on the dock; a spot that had taken him some acrobatic skill to get to. Who the hell had decided that the dock would only be accessible by climbing down a rocky slope? He assumed Wilson's grandfather was to blame and had a mind to find out where he was buried and register his complaints formally. He'd be sure to leave Wilson at home for that trip.

He wished Wilson would have left him at home for this idiotic excursion in the as yet unnamed boat he'd bought a few months ago. House logically shouldn't have been surprised that a man who had subscriptions to two boating magazines had bought his own. He'd joked about midlife crises the whole way up but, when he'd finally seen the thing, he'd been impressed. The pathetic thing was that Wilson knew it. House made a mental note never to be caught off guard again.

"Come on!" Wilson was demanding. _Whining_, House corrected. "We'll take a spin, have lunch and I'll turn us right back."

"It's going to rain, you idiot!" House yelled. "I hate getting caught in the rain, you hate getting caught in the rain and my right leg REALLY doesn't like getting caught in the rain!"

Wilson shut his eyes and let out the most exasperated sounding sigh House had heard in awhile. Then he reached into his windbreaker pocket and withdrew a familiar orange bottle. House stuck his hand into his own pocket only to discover that what he saw before him was not a hallucination.

"You bastard," House cursed in some strange mixture of outrage and awe.

"I will be gone for the afternoon," Wilson informed him nonchalantly. "Maybe even a little later than that."

The son of a bitch had done his homework. "Let me get this straight," House enquired as his eyebrow raised. "You're basically making me choose between shit loads of pain in a cottage alone in the middle of nowhere or shit loads of pain with you on a boat?"

"Your choice," Wilson shrugged. The Vicodin bottle was still clutched tightly in his left fist. They stared at each other for a moment, expressions blank until House couldn't stop an approving smirk from crossing his face. "Well done, my young apprentice."

"Thank you, my Master," Wilson replied diligently with a deep bow.

- - -

Things had gone rather well at first. House had sat comfortably, stretching his leg over most of the seating space while Wilson had busied himself with steering the thing. It was autumn and the leaves were just changing. _Dying_, House amended. Those leaves were dying yet they looked so much better than they did while alive. Irony at its best. House caught Wilson taking in a bit of it and perhaps getting a bit too distracted. Eventually the aspiring skipper had shut the motor off and abandoned the helm so they could sit and eat the lunch he had packed.

House had noticed the sky getting progressively darker but, uncharacteristically, had not paid much attention to it. This was the first weekend off either of that either of them had had in quite some time. House had been the one who wanted to get out of Princeton and Wilson had suggested his family's cottage and that had been that. As much as he tried to deny it, he was actually enjoying himself. Silly of him to let a few moments leisure distract him.

The first patters of rain had House up in arms. Wilson had tried to placate him the best he could, but House knew he was getting a bit nervous too and noted the increase in speed. Everything had quickly escalated from then on. The rain began to pour so hard that it felt like being shot, the wind had started kicking up and with that had come the waves coming high enough to crash over the deck.

After House had been drenched for the third time he turned angrily to his friend. "You were saying, genius?!"

Wilson wasn't listening to him as he struggled at the helm. Spinning the wheel more than enough times but with no real progress being made. House could just make out the other man's angry "Fucking weather network!"

"You can exercise your fantasies later!" House shouted back. "We've got a bit of a problem here!"

"Really? And here I was enjoying myself!"

Another wave crashed over the boat, drenching the pair yet again. Wilson was trying his best to steer the damn thing back home, but visibility was almost none existent and they'd been spun around so much it was hard to gauge exactly which way that was.

House rummaged around the boat and found a flare gun while Wilson reached for the radio. He shot off a flare while Wilson yelled out their approximate coordinates over the speaker. There was no way House would be able to hear the reply but Wilson's frantic cries of "Over?!" were not encouraging.

House shot off a second flare a few moments later. Wilson gave the wheel a frustrated wheel a final spin and concentrated on trying every frequency he could get on the radio. The older man reached into his pocket and popped a Vicodin, his leg was screaming its displeasure at the situation but House himself was much angrier and tried his best to put his leg out of his mind. There were bigger worries right now.

A third flare was shot, which seemed to summon another wave. This time Wilson was almost thrown from the ship. House moved fast grabbed onto the helm and managed to grab Wilson's windbreaker just in time. The younger man steadied himself and was moving as soon as he could, ignoring the close call and reaching for some rope.

He tossed one end to House. "Tie that around yourself."

"Why?"

"So I can tie it around me and then tie it to the boat." He whipped the rope impatiently.

"And here I was expecting to be told to grab a life jacket!"

"That's next on the list."

House secured the rope around his waist and waited for Wilson to do the same. He was in the middle of tying the knot when a wave that wouldn't have seemed out of place in a certain George Clooney film crashed over the boat. One instant Wilson was staring up at it, lips moving it what had to have been a curse, the next he was gone. The rope was lying limp and slack on the deck.

"WILSON!" The shout took him off guard and he rushed over to where Wilson had been, searching the waters for any trace of his friend. Over lunch Wilson had mentioned the dangerous current and told him a story about how he'd almost lost one of his cousins to it. Another irony. You'd have thought two doctors would have had the good sense to actually wear their life jackets on a boat.

Before House could take any action on that thought another wave jostled the boat and crashed over, sweeping him off the deck before he could blink. He barely had time to grab a breath before he hit the water and the sounds of the storm were silenced as he went under.

Kicking back up to the surface was his first instinct. This was first impeded by the fact that he only had one functioning leg to work with and was further impeded by that current that had almost claimed Wilson's cousin; a current that may have already claimed Wilson and a current that would soon claim him.

Not on his watch. Instinct being instinct, and the need to breathe taking over his aversion to pain, caused him to kick harder. His will was the only thing keeping his mouth from releasing that gasp of pain and releasing that one breath he'd managed to grab.

It did no good though. He tried kicking with just the left leg, reaching up in vain toward the surface hoping for his hand to break it. No avail, he just kept sinking.

Bubbles started escaping him and House tried to keep his mouth closed. He pinched his nose with one hand in a desperately vain effort to keep that precious air inside him but his lungs were screaming to inhale. House shut his eyes and willed himself to keep his goddamn mouth shut. Don't inhale. Don't fucking inhale.

He looked up at the water's surface above him like that proverbial glass ceiling. He could see the rain pelting down on him and he found himself observing that he wouldn't mind if this was the last thing he'd ever see, except for the sight of that boat lying there on its side like a wounded animal. That he could live without.

The fight had left him then. There was no way he was going to get up there so there was no point in trying. A strange feeling began to come over him in that moment. He was…peaceful. Nothing could bother him and nothing could reach him here. Part of his brain reminded him that eventually he'd open his mouth and the inhalation of water into his lungs would turn into an agony to match his leg, but that didn't seem to worry him now. Nothing could worry him now.

That security and peace was quickly stolen from him when he felt the rope tug around his waist. It took him by surprise and he gasped, taking a mouth full of water. That was when the agony hit. His lungs recognized they were breathing _something_ in but it wasn't what they wanted. He exhaled sharply and shut his mouth again, feet trying to kick again, trying to scramble up to the surface again, failing again.

A hand came over his face, pinching his nose and covering his mouth, and shoved his head down until his chin was buried into his chest. His arms were pulled back behind him and were hooked over this person's other arm. He felt himself slowly being propelled forward. He curiously watched those feet kicking furiously, fighting with every once of strength his legs possessed to get them up and out. House knew he probably should try and help but it was taking what little was left of him to stay awake. Somehow, though, his head broke the surface he gasped and coughed and savoured the stormy air. He was being towed now, head staring up at the stormy sky with a hand hovering over his mouth feeling for breath, then moving to his neck for his pulse.

The next thing he knew he was being hoisted up into another boat, his leg again registered its discontent but House was too busy savouring the act of breathing to care. He was steered to a seat on the boat as he shuddered and gasped, wrapping himself in the warm blanket that was draped over his shoulders. Someone was in front of him, speaking to him, trying to get him to open his eyes. He hadn't even realized they were shut. He answered this stranger's questions distractedly as he eyes followed the trail of rope leading from his waist.

It led to Wilson's wrist.

Wilson was a few feet away, kneeling on all fours, hacking and spitting up water as someone else knelt beside him with a blanket in hand. House ignored the man beside him, barely registering the sounds of his boots walking away across the deck, and tugged on the rope sharply. Wilson started and almost slipped on the wet deck. He looked over at House, coughed a few more times, and rose to his feet. The man at Wilson's side quickly disappeared.

"Didn't take you for the Baywatch type," House rasped as Wilson settled beside him. Wilson's left hand was gripping his right wrist where the rope was tied and House noted how unsteady Wilson's feet seemed now when they had fought so furiously only moments ago.

Wilson didn't say anything back to House's quip and his smile was quite a distance from genuine. He wasn't even looking at him; just shivering and trying to get what warmth he could from the frayed, plaid blanket that he'd been given. House gently tugged on the rope again until Wilson was pressed against his side. He freed an arm from his own cocoon and wrapped it around Wilson. He could always use the excuse of sharing body heat. Good idea for two near drowned men.

Wilson rested his head on House's shoulder and House himself looked out to the stormy, choppy, angry waters again and remembered how different it bad been under it all.

He pulled Wilson a bit closer.


End file.
